The Long Road Home

Tell me a story
Of tomorrow
Of purple dreams
And orange hope

And a rainbow walk
Where I never tire

Image used without permission

Dance of Life

"Nah, I'll come get you", K said just before she hung up. K and I met up for dinner a couple of weeks ago. It's been over five years since I met her. We ended up having a great time, probably one of my best dinners in and around Houston, and reminiscing the good old days.

We've both had our share of difficult times since then. And in their differences, they have been kind of similar. We chose to get over them in different ways. I buried myself in work, so much so I had no time for much else. K did the same, but with a difference. She buried herself in something she loved doing. She still does it today, almost a year later, with such enthusiasm that just bursts with freshness each time. In most of our trials, the ends justify the means. It's not to say that what one does is better than the other. But in our acceptance of what has happened, we often decide, unknowingly, what we were always meant to do. Hopefully a glimpse of what life has in store for us - for the better.

Otherwise K hasn't changed much. She's still as chic as ever, but worries about how good she'll look in every snap. Still dances as if no one's watching. Still has that mischevious honesty in her eyes.

One of my recent favourite songs played on the car stereo on our way back. "I've been doing some singing too of late. Let me sing along with this one, tell me what you think eh?" K was at it as we swept through the Houston night. In a little stray thought that played in my head, the night was suddenly silent, except for the wind through the trees whistling my admiration out loud.

I had a smile as I walked up back to my room at the hotel. Call me behind the times if you would, but independent, confident women always give me goosebumps.

Enough Already

I'm not one to comment on socially sensitive topics. But this whole Sania news just doesn't allow me to do the same thing this time. Hate mails and comments and news just keep piling on day after day. Everyone suddenly thinks Sania should be the role model India never had. How can she marry someone who has previously been accused of match fixing? Doesn't she know cricket is an Indian religion? Doesn't an alliance with someone like this destroy and defile our nation? And does she know he's been married to someone previously? We as a nation are worried for her safety and security! What if his ex-wife attacks her and we lose our best tennis sensation!! And the worst part is OMG WTF he's a Pakistani! Surely being the responsible Indian she is she CANNOT even THINK of even associating with people that we are at war with??

Give it a rest guys. Let's forget the fact that what Sania does with her life shouldn't be anyone's business. It's like we've just gone back twenty years. To blaming everyone in the nation for something most of them aren't responsible for. To looking for reasons to find fault when there are better things to do. To just wiping out all those initiatives, all the music and lyrics for love, peace and brotherhood. These are people with us, people around us, people like us. When an enemy has a face, he shouldn't be your enemy anymore.

Guy Love

For the ladies - if you've heard it it's true: guys can't handle emotion, at least not with other guys. We're probably crying the river inside and all that, but on the outside it's a whole different story. I've had a few of these "guy" experiences myself, and I thought it's about time they were put down.

Guide:
WWWTS: What we want to say
WWEUS: What we end up saying

G1: Hey, why do you have a palm pendant around your neck?
G2: Oh this is 'coz I got engaged a month ago. My fiancé has a similar one too around hers. It's supposed to go like - hand-in-hand, you know.
WWWTS: Awww, so sweet that is! *sigh* I wish we had this back in India too! *double sigh*
WWEUS: Neat! Fancy those Chinese traditions, eh?

G1: So how was your vacation?
G2: Awesome. Did a bit of traveling. Finished too soon though - now it's back to work and hell!
WWWTS: Yea, I know. But I'm glad you're back dude. Things are kind of tough right now. At least now there's someone I can depend on.
WWEUS: Tell me about it. So, 'sup?

G1: D tells me you're leaving?
G2: Yea, had enough of the oilfield man. And of this place of course.
WWWTS: Well, I had the best time with you around man. Will miss having you around. Am sorry to see you go, you know.
WWEUS: Hahah, true. I'll probably go next.

G1: How's L doing? You guys getting married soon or what?
G2: Oh, we broke up last week buddy. Some things didn't work out.
WWWTS: Nooo! But you guys were perfect, I thought. Been together for two years right? Are you sure it's not something that can be worked out? Everything's got to have a solution yeah? Surely there must be something I can do to help?
WWWEUS: Oh, bummer. Pizza?

I guess guy love doesn't go much deeper.

This Little Part...

On those cold winter nights, five to eight years ago, anywhere between 300 to 700 adults would sit in their rooms, or in the institute library (fondly called Ref-Li for the BITS, Pilani nostalgic) poring over those books that would decide where they ended up the next day. Yep, the first series of tests were in action. On every one of those nights for the four good years I spent at Pilani, I have whined and cursed the unfortunate events that made me write these life-or-death tests. The day these endless series of tests would end, I decided, life would be worth living once again.

And yeah, it was good when they ended. I probably won't have to write another such test ever again. And everytime I missed college, the places, the friends, I wondered if I was forgetting a little reality-check of the countless tests I've had to write. I still feel though, everytime, that the fight for the grades, the sleepy tutorial hours at 8 am on a zero degree morning, the scanning through answer sheets for a couple of marks that would get you that elusive grade - would all be worth a chance for four years back in college again.

A few weeks ago, I saw a snap of N during his college days, sitting at a desk with a huge folder of text in front of him. One pen in his hand, another three of them lying around on the desk. A calculator open beside him. His watch on the desk. A notebook and a pile of other papers scattered across the same desk. And though I've known N for over two years, the brightest grin I've ever seen on him. And with a sweatshirt over him, a flashback of a winter evening. His comment, borrowed courtesy Will Smith, below the snap, revealing one simple truth - This little part of my life is called happiness..

For someone whose college life I was no part of at all, this snap and the little comment have become one of my favourites.

Ammi Jab Banati Hai

Just after dinner one day, the three of us were sitting and watching Conan o'Brien on TV, sipping Naeem's signature after-meals chai. We'd just finished a meal of chicken curry and rotis from the local restaurant behind the compound. "Oops - almost forgot!" Naeem stood up and went to his room, and came back with the yummiest besan ka halwa I've ever eaten. "From home - friend brought it over today." Our mouths were already stuffed.

In between mouthfuls we got to reminiscing about back-home food. Nitin about his dahi-parathas and kadi, Naeem about his doodhi burfi and mithi lassi, and me about my puttu-kadla and mutton biryani. "The halwa's a little different from last time, yeah?" "Yeah, Ammi can never make the same thing twice. I asked her for besan ka halwa that's all - no point telling her 'the same as last time'! Lekin Ammi jab banati hai badi fit banati hai yaar!"

Amen. No arguments on that - go around the world eating your poulets, calzones, fajitas, dim-sums, chop sueys, sushis, kebabs, whatever - all that just melts away when you think of home food. I've already started counting down my 15 odd remaining days!

They say home is where the heart is. I'm sure for the most of us, home is where Mom's food is.

My Horizon

Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down on me

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
...
On a clear day
I can see
See a very long way

From Colin Hay's Waiting

Who Knows

Six of us were cramped up in that little cabin on the truck. For the past eleven days we've been there everyday, at least six to seven hours each day. Watching the little weight indicator on the monitor, hoping for an answer and hoping for it soon. The chunk of metal downhole just refused to give up. We'd been pulling on it, smacking metal on metal, looking for that rapid drop on the scale, waiting for it to come free.

At the end of the day we were tired, upset and seriously considering the possibility of redoing everything we had done in the last six weeks. And then we saw the 9000 pound drop, and the coil rolling back freely.

"Al hamdolillah!* " Everyone of us cried out with our hands raised at our chests.

Frank is Chinese and an atheist. Håvard is Norweigian, and he's not been to church since his divorce. Fazil is from Azerbaijan, I don't have much to say about religion there. Mohammed has spent the last five years in San Francisco, but he's a pretty devout Muslim. And so is Ali, but he's been in Saudi all his life. I'm also quite the God-fearing Catholic.

But it didn't really matter. Sometimes, you can have a ton of experience in the work you do. You can explain everything, plan ahead, do something you can to the best of your knowledge and ability. And still, sometimes, we find ourselves desperately waiting for a miracle that we know with all our technically programmed minds will just not happen. And yet, when it does, there is something in the way it all worked out that makes you wonder. In the same way that the world has its perfectly random order. Maybe this is what all of us can call God.

* A common phrase which praises Allah. Translated, it roughly means, "This was possible, by God's mercy."

The Space Between

"What's the reason you're being so weird lately?"

"I guess... I don't know. I'm really happy for you, I am. I was just... hoping, I guess, that this day wouldn't come."

"You don't have to distance yourself because of that. We're still who we used to be!"

"Then tell me things will be the same."

(cell phone rings)

"I gotta take this, buddy. You're right. Things are going to be different. But different doesn't always mean bad. Different just means different."

Dream Catcher

You will live it out in time

But God forbid

That among the dreams of tomorrow

And the memories of yesterday

You forget the reality of today.

Tamizh

A gave me a birthday gift two weeks ago. Ah, I should probably say that the original gift that I was supposed to get dissolved into thin air on account of the fact that my visit to India was unprecendented and unexpected at the time of her arrival, and realizing that it was almost impossible that the two of us would meet during her trip back home, and calculating carefully that the postal department would make a killing on parcel registration almost nullifying the value of the gift, she had come to the conclusion that it would be better to give me this gift the next time we met, which could not be longer than another two years in time (I have simplified her original explanation which ran into seven and a half pages on standard A4 size paper - front and back).

So after a million whines of self-pity on having no birthday acknowledgement from someone I have known forever, she agreed to put together the one thing I really have wanted for a long while. A CD of tamil songs. Not that I've not heard tamil songs before, but not like this. The CD has pretty much blown me away - you could call it an obsession I guess.

On the other hand, I think whoever said mallu is tougher to learn than tamil knew nothing about either language! I'm a little language shy and A scares the hell out of me every time I try to speak two words. So a few days back I manage a Innu onnum pannala * and she's on it straight away -

"No! What Innu? You should say innukku!"

"But innu is passable no?" (hands a little sweaty)

"NO! It's not passable! And what onnum pannala? This is not your mallu - say innukku onnume pannala * !"

"OK..." (My voice is shaking and I can't say another word)

Hah, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If it's I it has to be pannitaen ^ , if it's he it has to be pannitaan ^ , if it's she it has to be pannitta ^ (oh, actually in very pure tamizh it has to be pannittaal ^, but in conversation pannitta is passable :P ) And elders you have to respect, OK? No enna pannara ** and all... it has to be neenga enna pannareenga ** !

Where does my paavam mallu compare to this where a simple Endhu cheyyuva ** ? would fit everyone and everything!!

But I'm having fun inspite of all the domination and humiliation. And for that, A, you're officially forgiven for everything ;)

* - Did nothing today

^ - various forms of did

** - What are you doing?

V1/16

The strands in your eyes
That color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains
Thrust towards the sky
Never revealing their depth

Today completes three years since I left Bangalore - then and now one of my cities of dreams. The place where I gained a little, lost a little, and still continue to learn - a lot. This is a dedication to everything that makes the city what it is - the traffic, the streets, the double meter auto rides, the restaurants, and more than anything else - the people who made my life the way it is now.

Lyrics from Goo Goo Dolls' I'll be

Colourblind

The balloon seller was filling up his balloons with helium. He had a daily ploy to attract his young customers. Just as children started coming out of school, he would grab a dozen balloons of various colours and let them loose into the air. It always worked. One hour's work in the evening and he would make enough money for a decent meal three times a day.

On one such day, just as he was about to pack up, he felt a little tug on the bottom of his shirt. Looking down, he saw a little kid looking up at him with his dark brown eyes. "Uncle, if you fill a black balloon with air and leave it, will it also fly like the others?" His small voice brimmed with innocence.

The balloon seller patted him on the head. "It doesn't matter what's on the outside, son. It's what's inside that counts."

***

I heard this story in church today. I've heard a lot of them before, with long winded parallels and implications that would finally give a moral science lesson. But this one surprised me. Like that one-in-a-hundred story that makes you smile, just because it is so simple its truth can't be denied.

And I suppose that however late, we all realize that it's true. It's what's inside that counts.

Mayflower

Strange but wonderful, that sometimes -

- in the loudest of places, you can find just the silence you wished for.
- it really is possible to sleep your worries away.
- music and lyrics can take off a day's weight.
- friends are the only reason you need to make a decision.
- you can miss someone even though you're hardly in touch.
- memories of yesterday make up for the expectations of today.
- you can dream about something you know won't come true.
- acceptance can be the simplest form of love.

Taglines

(Tagged by Pareltank and Angels, Stars 'n Dreams, but I should probably modify it to "ten honest beliefs" or something like it. And oops! could come up only with 7!)

And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
You can only take so much...
Walk on
***
There's a place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain
... Home
***
If all of the stars have faded away
Just try not to worry you'll see them someday
Just take what you need and be on your way
And stop crying your heart out
***
We were moving mountains
Long before we knew we could
***
No matter what they tell you
No matter what they do
No matter what they teach you
What you believe is true
***
I tried so hard to set things right
But then years later when I looked back
The only things that turned out right
Were those I thought I'd just let be
***
I dream that love will never die
I dream that God will be forgiving

Onion Pakoda

"Yaar aaj to pakoda khaana hi padega!" Naeem, Nitin and I are sitting in our living room watching the rain pitter-patter outside. Rain. In my part of the world, that's rare. Nitin's the one who made the pakoda remark. That's how it is with him - most things are impulsive and based on parallels. This time it's the badiya mausam - ghar ki yaad - pakoda on a rainy evening parallel.

But this time everyone's enthusiastic. Somehow it does seem like a pakodi ka din. And so on the first weekend all of us have in almost a month, we decide to have a doing nothing - doing everything day. Naeem takes us in the morning to the local Pakistani Street which has the best aalo ke parathe I've had (prejudiced opinion because I'm in Saudi - but what the hell!).

But Nitin's right. The weather is awesome. The only time Saudi has actually looked romantic. The rain has cleared the air. The sky is dark but when you look out to the distance, you can almost touch the peace it casts on the ground. Sitting at the Corniche sea face, sipping at our coffees, we can see through to the Bahrain causeway miles away. Mornings have never been so lovely.

A drive and a movie later, we remember to end the day with what started it - Nitin's pakodi. At the little restaurant downtown, dabbing our onion pakodas in its red chutney and chana-dal, there're no worries of work, of people in distant lands, of money or relationships. Life feels momentarily peaceful.

Latika!

(Yep, finally saw it!)

My love for Slumdog isn't because it provides the world hope in it's time of recession, or because it tells you that you can reach great heights no matter what your history. It is in the simplicity of the love Jamal and Latika share. It doesn't matter how they were brought up, how they survived the dark days of their youth, how the Mumbai gang wars tore them apart - when they're finally together, the emotion they share is so natural, so easily innocent.

"Where are you?"
"I'm safe."
"I knew you'd be watching."

How many of us would accept a Ye hi hamari kismat hai justification at the end of a Bollywood movie? But Jamal's This is our destiny seems absolutely all right - because he makes us believe that even though it is written, you just cannot stop trying.

Right and Wrong

India's first golden globe. And perfectly dedicated to "the billion people of India". No one deserves it more. Rahman - you the man.

Sachin ranked #26. The ICC should suck on a lollipop while they redo that primary school formula they used.

My Window

Beside this window I spent nine years of my waking hours. Or minutes - being a last-minute-you-really-can't-afford-to-sleep-anymore kind of late riser I've never really got the time to enjoy a beautiful morning.

Every weekday at 5:45 my dad would wake me up when he left for work. Amma is probably the most optimistic person on the planet - all through these nine years I've asked her everyday to wake me up at 6 am. And she's done it whenever I asked her to - and continued it every 15 minutes till I finally wake up at half past seven, twenty minutes before the school bus is scheduled to pick me up at my doorstep. Most mornings are a blur to me. Three minutes dashing in and out of the shower, five minutes searching desparately for ironed clothes, twenty seconds in front of the dressing table trying to look presentable, one minute gulping down breakfast with no respect for what was served. To this day I consider it among my top achievements that in nine years, I can still count with one finger the number of times I've missed the school bus.

But the window is special. On those lazy mornings on the weekend when I'd just woken up, I'd prop my pillow against the head of the bed and stare for hours at the backyard. Somewhere along that timeframe there was a mulberry tree that grew just next to the wall. I remember the excitement when one day, after having learnt metamorphosis in biology, I saw among the deep red and the green of the tree, a fat green caterpillar. This was my obsession for weeks, till it finally disappeared leaving the thin shell of its cocoon behind.

On the days India played cricket and I got to stay home and watch, I always watched it by the window. The window was my little lucky charm for the Indian cricket team. The match would start off with the windows closed, and the room in darkness. And then it all depended on how we played. If we kept losing wickets or were getting trashed on the field, the two panels of the window would open by varying amounts - casting those "lucky shadows" about the room. The challenge was to get the shadows just right - like the stars being in place or something.

There are other memories. On the road behind our backyard, the neighbour taking his two cows out to the field. Somedays, a battered white Ambassador car visiting our backies. Other days, the crows pecking at all the ripe mangoes that always made Ammachy so angry. In the evenings, Amma watering her precious cinammon plants.

I no longer live or sleep by my window of nine years. The house has undergone a massive refurnishing since then, making it lots more beautiful and almost unrecognizable to someone seeing it after a while. But when I go visiting, this is my favourite room of all. The room with my window - because when I look out through it I can almost see the mulberry tree with its green and deep red mulberries, leaves half gnawed through by the caterpillar infestation. I guess that sometimes, all of us wish we can go back to a simpler time.

About Love

Never heard it said better.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

From 1 Corinthians 13